


Symptoms of Adolescence

by FeigningMischief



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeigningMischief/pseuds/FeigningMischief
Summary: A poem about being a teenager...?





	Symptoms of Adolescence

I’m eighteen. This means that I’ve spent the last 6 years of my life suffering from the Symptoms of Adolescence.

 

In case you’re wondering,

This involves walking along the edge of the pavement, pretending I’m balancing on a tightrope;

Convinced the stakes are much higher, that every wobble will kill me;

Waving at an imaginary audience who are really just my parents holding my hand;

I’m pretty sure they’re dazzled by my sequined acrobat costume,

Lie, I’m wearing a hand-me-down hoodie.

 

I am defined by the innate desire to stand out and the urgent need to fit in.

Sarcasm is my favourite weapon but I’m still learning how to wield it properly.

I’m guilty of a lot of friendly fire and sometimes I shoot myself in the foot.

I’m clumsy like that.

I didn't step out of childhood; I tripped.

 

My arms are still pinwheeling for balance in an effort to not fall into adulthood flat on my face.

My limbs are growing and I'm still getting used to the new reach.

Sometimes I overstep or overextend

Sometimes people laugh at my lack of coordination

Sometimes I laugh too despite the bruises it results in.

Sometimes I cry instead, growing pains, you see.

 

Social growing pains that leave embarrassing stains on my memory,

Only tempered by the gratefulness that such mistakes were made in relative obscurity.

I’m being dragged through this transition to maturity

Kicking and screaming, filled with insecurity

Because getting older is mandatory.

 

But growing up?

Now that’s optional.

 

Many seem to be labouring under the misconception that I will stop being a child at heart.

That I will grow out of my dimples and into my frown.

That I will discard my innocence so that they can point fingers at my guilt

That I will make clumsy attempts to flirt with danger

 

Yet as a child I was warned to never talk to strangers,

But people insist on teasing me about crushes as if I am supposed to recognise romance

Make no mistake, I don’t have time for romance

I’m too busy juggling hormones and emotions, tears and laughter.

My heart is already swinging from a trapeze without a safety net

I don’t need to confuse things further.

 

And emotions are perplexing

There’s so many I spend too much time indexing

These feelings my brain has been annexing

When there’s so much I’d rather be doing, it’s vexing

I’m a teenager, shouldn't I be texting?


End file.
